Bittersweet
by Voice Number Seven
Summary: Cause and effect. Action and reaction. Sometimes, one little action can have a string of effects that no one predicted, and sometimes, people come out the worse for it. Sometimes, things go horribly bitter, and someone else is left to clean up the pieces.


**Bittersweet**

**Summary:** Cause and effect. Action and reaction. Sometimes, one little action can have a string of effects that no one predicted, and sometimes, people come out the worse for it. Sometimes, things go horribly bitter, and someone else is left to clean up the pieces.

**Genre: **Friendship, Hurt/Comfort

**Rating:** T for language

**Note:** I know Mary may seem a little OOC, May, too, for that matter, but I tried to explain that as best I could without rambling or making it too long. Besides, a lot of time has passed.

**THANK YOU** to Blue Cupcakes for being my beta-reader3 [and thus catching my mistakes xD]

* * *

><p>It's cold out. My breath fogs up the glass as I stare inside. My mitten-covered hands are in the pockets of my coat, the shopping bag hanging from my elbow, and my hat pushes my bangs into my face just a little bit as I stare through the window. Carter will be worried if I don't get there soon, but I want to take a moment.<p>

The library's the same as it was a few years ago, when I was still little and didn't know why the pretty blonde girl was wearing a white dress or why Gray was grinning like he'd won a contest or why Mary was talking even less than she usually did. The books are neat on the shelves, titles blaring from the covers. The lights are soft, but bright enough to read by. She's sitting at her desk, her hair falling along either side of her face, streaked with bits of pepper gray, like Anna's used to be. She stopped braiding it when the pretty blonde's started to grow. She stopped saying "Please," like she'd always told Stu to do, and she snapped at people when they went into her library.

The pretty blonde had never stepped foot inside.

She'd been nice to me, after she first arrived on the boat with Zack. Grandpa, may he rest in peace, told me to be nice to her, and I was. She gave me gifts—flowers, paper to draw on, a set of paints for Christmas. She gave Stu chocolate and candy, even though Elli scolded her for it. He never understood why the gifts weren't enough.

Carter did, though. Maybe it was in the way I pushed for more visits to the library, asked to go there by myself if Stu didn't want to. He let me, more often as I got older, and even more often once Grandpa passed and he became my legal guardian. That had been messy, but then, Ma hadn't wanted me back. She'd pushed it on the first person to offer, and Carter had said from the beginning he'd take care of me.

_You need to get home. He'll be worrying. You said you'd only pick up some flour from the supermarket for the cookies you want to bake_.

I glance along the street, over my shoulder, to see if there was anyone inside. The bricks are deserted, but light paints squares of yellow on the walkway. Snow hugs the edges of the curb, weighing down what plants had survived, and blankets the fences and roofs. Clouds cover every hint of the sky from view, from the mountains to my left to the horizon on my right, in a blanket of gray that sends snowflakes down from the heavens.

She used to say that people were like snowflakes, because every single one of us is unique. She hasn't said that in years. I've been wondering if she even still believes it.

Suddenly, she looks up, and sees me through the window. Her eyes widen behind her glasses, something I can see even through the foggy window, and her mouth opens and closes a few times, like the fish Zack sometimes catches at the beach.

I wave to her, smiling.

She frowns, then, as if she's decided I'm up to a prank, and looks back down. She's reading a book, like she always is. It's big and bound in a thick cover of startling red. I watch for a moment longer. She brushes hair behind her ear, not looking up. Either she's just engrossed in her book again, or she thinks I've left.

Before I know what I'm doing, I find myself pushing the door open and being enveloped by the hot air inside.

Her chin jerks up again, and the cold surprise in her expression is obvious. Her eyes are hard, like the granite stones that match their irises in color, and her lips are pulled into a thin frown. "What?" she snaps.

I don't know why I walked in, or what to say, but words slip past my lips anyway. "I'm baking cookies." I hold up the flour to show her, she doesn't look at it, only stares at me. It scares me a little. "I was wondering if you preferred raisins or chocolate chips in them—cuz I wanted to bring you some when they're done. If that's okay."

"Don't waste my time, May," she replies curtly. "The Goddess knows I don't appreciate the teasing."

"Oatmeal it is," I reply, grinning.

She lifts an eyebrow, but her expression is screaming at me to get out. "Goodbye," she says simply, then makes a shooing motion in the direction of the door.

I nod, and run back into the cold.

* * *

><p>"May, you still look like you're freezing," Carter murmurs when I get back.<p>

I glance in the mirror that hangs in the entrance way. My cheeks are flushed, and there's snow in every crevice of my hat and coat. I look older now, much older than I used to, and I know Grandpa's heart would break seeing me look so much like my mother. So much time has passed.

"I'm fine," I mutter, pressing a kiss to my fore- and middle fingers and placing these on the picture of Grandpa that hangs beside the mirror. "How does oatmeal sound? For the cookies?"

He chuckles. "I thought you wanted chocolate chip."

I shrug.

His face hardens and softens all at the same time, like he wants me to talk to him. Except he's not behind the screen in confession at the moment. I don't even know why we're still living together. I guess neither of us really wants to be alone.

"She's the only one who's still alone," I whisper suddenly, and it takes us both a moment to understand what I've said.

Then, his face seems to fall, all the features going down. He looks so sad… I don't think I've ever seen Carter look that sad, that hurt. I'm not sure I understand why either.

"I think she resents it," I add softly, still not knowing what exactly I'm talking about.

Although his chin is nearly touching his chest, he nods a little. "It would seem so."

"I don't want her to be alone anymore," I admit, and it's the first sentence that really feels right.

She shouldn't be alone. She should be with Gray. She should be smiling and laughing and happy because she married her soulmate, except… except she didn't. That blonde bitch did. Gray should have known that she wasn't good for him like Mary was. She even made it so that he doesn't visit the library anymore.

Or was that Mary's fault? She's grown so bitter over the years. I don't think anyone visits anymore, not even the doctor, although he has the excuse of the twins Elli birthed for him.

I frown to myself, wishing I could make it better. Too bad wishing never did anything to help.

Carter puts a hand on my shoulder, smiling down at me. His gray eyebrows are bushy above his eyes, eyes that are kind like always, but still hold that teardrop of sadness in them, even if they don't look particularly wet. "Go bake your cookies, May."

* * *

><p>Again, I find myself standing in front of the library.<p>

This time, the clouds are gone. The sun shines weakly down on everything. Hardly more than a bright spot in the sky, it offers no warmth. That's where my coat and my mittens come in. I left the hat at home. Nonetheless, the sun strikes the snow, blaring brightly and making my eyes hurt.

Mary's inside. I can see her through the windows. Rick passes me, casting me a glance, but then hurries on to the supermarket. The house beside the library looks abandoned, deserted. I wonder absently how long it's been since anyone's been inside. I'm pretty sure Mary's made her home inside the library. After what happened to Anna and Basil, up on the mountain, she hasn't gone there again either. She's become reclusive, and quiet, and angry, and… bitter.

"Hey, May! Those cookies for me?" Stu runs up to, tries to grab the plate out of my hand.

I jerk it away from him quickly and glare at him. "No, they're not for you. They're a gift. So keep your dirty paws off 'em."

He pouts, but his eyes are cheerful. Then, he glances at my object of fascination, and something between boredom and distaste colors his expression. "Oh, this old place."

"Get lost," I grumble. "I know you always hated it in there."

Silence plays between us. At the end of the street, someone's footsteps crunch through the new layer of snow.

"Not always," he admits after a moment. "I always liked it when she read to us. She was really good at that." I thank him silently for not cursing.

I sigh softly, hands tightening on the plate of cookies.

"They're for her, aren't they?" he asks.

I nod, staring straight ahead.

It's his turn to sigh. "You know she won't appreciate them, right? She'll probably yell at you that she isn't some charity case and throw one of those books at you. I hear that's what happened when Ann tried to bring her lunch a few years ago."

"Yeah, but that was _years_ ago," I mutter, hope bubbling in my chest no matter how useless it is. "Maybe she's mellowed out a little?" I glance at him.

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, _right_. And I'm Santa Clause. Really, May? You still believe in those happy endings? Happy endings don't exist."

_Only because they always leave someone hurting._

"I'm going to do it," I tell him, striding forward.

He sighs again, and I know he's shaking his head as I reach the door. "Don't come crying to me when it bites you in the ass."

I retract the thank you, opening the door and walking inside.

* * *

><p>She's not in the immediate room anymore. I missed her getting up while I was talking to Stu.<p>

Nonetheless, I walk forward, looking around. It's nice and warm in here. The lights are pleasant, too, not like the sun outside. It's cozy in here, a feeling that I've missed over the years. I always liked books more than I let on. Placing the plate carefully on her desk, I call, "Mary?"

She tromps loudly down the stairs, looking pissed, and demands again, "_What_?" Her hair's still loose, still streaked gray, and there are hard lines on her face that I didn't notice yesterday. Underneath the anger, she looks tired.

Tired of what? Of being alone? Of seeing the happy couples around? Of life?

I take a step backward, uncomfortable with that last thought, and uncomfortable with the way she's glaring at me. That isn't the Mary I knew. This is a bitter, hurt, tired shadow of Mary.

Her eyes fall onto the cookies, and she stops short. "What are those?" she asks, like she doesn't already know.

"Cookies. I told you I wanted to bring you some cookies yesterday—"

"—I remember," she interrupts, still snippy.

"So… there they are," I finish lamely.

She frowns at me, but it's less angry, more like I'm a bug that just won't be squashed. "What do you want from me? Everyone wants something. They don't do anything without wanting something. So what do you want?" Her words are short, like they're cut off at the end, and snapped out piece by piece, stinging like broken shards of glass although there's nothing particularly mean or cruel about them.

"I…" I start, but I don't know what to say. I just wanted to bring her some cookies, maybe so she wouldn't feel so alone. When was the last time she'd talked to someone?

"Well?" she almost growls it out, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at me.

"You used to be so nice, Mary," I whimper suddenly, backing away again. I am _not_ going to cry! But I can feel the tears prick at my eyes and the burn in my nose that says my body wants to. "What happened?"

Wrong question.

She explodes, "What happened? What _happened_? I was disillusioned, May. My whole world, my whole system of belief and faith, was torn apart by the very seams of its existence, because I made one stupid mistake and decided to think that 'Happily Ever After' is more than a goddamned fairy tale!" The cuss words don't sound right, coming out of her mouth. Her voice is loud., angry, frustrated, but as I stare at her, I notice that she's about to cry, too.

No one else has ever really talked to her about this. _I bet they all thought they had better give her some space, some time, but then they didn't come back_.

"Now, get out of the one place in the world where I have some peace and solace!" she yells, pointing at the door. "Out! Out, out, out!" With each 'out,' she jabs her finger in its direction.

I head towards the door, feeling dejected. My hand's on the knob when my face suddenly turns up and around, and I find myself staring back at her and saying, "I wanted to bring you cookies. I wanted to see you smile and be happy, like you used to be. Because the Mary I know wouldn't give up on fairy tales. She isn't bitter like that."

The anger drains from her face, replaced by shock yet again.

I find myself standing outside the library, staring my feet, my hands clenching in my pockets. I'm tempted to go back in again, but I don't want her exploding in my face again.

But I know she needed that. I peek through a window, hoping she doesn't see me. She's studying the plate of cookies in her hands, and I see a glistening path on her cheek. So she was crying. Then, a tiny smile makes the corners of her lips go up, and she turns around, sits down, and begins reading again.

She eats one of the cookies while she does.

When I get home, I take one off the platter that Carter insisted I save for Santa, even though neither of us believes in him anymore. The sugar cookie tastes sweet and innocent.


End file.
